


From Out of the Rain

by shadowed_sunsets



Series: The Broken Cup, aka The coffee shop AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg tries to mediate for the brothers, M/M, Mycroft really does try, New Beginnings, Sherlock does actually worry, the start of Mycroft and Greg's relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowed_sunsets/pseuds/shadowed_sunsets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set before 'On Any Rainy Day.'</p><p>Greg first meets Mycroft Holmes when he comes stumbling into the cafe drenched with rain and covered with mud after a night of unexpected legwork.</p><p>Then he meets the brother Sherlock when he looks up to see a boy glaring at him, soaked to the bone and demanding to know why he's so interesting.</p><p>One he enters a relationship with; the other he offers a job. And both become a part of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of this series, but really the prologue to everything else. It was meant to be just a brief interlude of how Mycroft and Greg got together, but then it turned into this monster and then Sherlock demanded a part. Just a bit out of hand ;)
> 
> This has been self-betad and brit-picked, so any mistakes are my own fault. Sadly, I do not own Sherlock or anything to do with Sherlock.
> 
> Also, if anyone would like to beta/brit pick this/future stories I would be more than delighted. Please contact me!
> 
> I hope you enjoy; comments/feedback appreciated. Thanks again to my luv Katie.
> 
> (There is more to come of this series, hopefully soon!)

The day Greg met his first Holmes brother was surprisingly not the most momentous day in his life.

The first so-called momentous day was the one he’d become Detective Sergeant after all the hard work and determination he’d put in; followed closely by the day he’d decided to first sign up to be an officer. And of course he couldn’t forget the day of his wedding- that was one occasion he would definitely never forget.

Some days he did regret quitting the force and opening a café. It wasn’t the same as putting away criminals, wasn’t like it at all really, but he was still helping the public. This was just less public servant and more making sure the public was well-fed and caffeinated.

And that was enough, sometimes.

Sally did what she could of course, helping him around the café in her spare time when she wasn’t solving cases. He tried to make running the café as uncomplicated as possible, but there were days when he couldn’t do everything himself and needed help unless he finally gave in and throttled one of his paying customers.

Which would be unfortunate because the customers were the best part, really.

London was home to many different kinds of people, from all walks of life, and a lot of them came into his café. His regulars were his favorite; some days they stayed at the counter to talk with him for hours. He could have real conversations with them, exchanging troubles and successes for the day or week. In return he made a point of remembering their favorite drinks and the way they liked it so it was ready as soon as they walked in the door. It was the least he could do for a bit of company.

Living in the rooms above the café wasn’t awful either; there was no commute between his home and work so he was never late opening the shop for his early customers. He was also his own boss which meant he decided the hours for the café and never got into trouble.

If he had to be something other than a police officer, running his own café wasn’t such a bad second option. It was a job, and something to do that he enjoyed and still let him interact with the public. Sally still kept an ear at the Yard and told him what she could about the cases they worked on. This wasn’t what he’d imagined for himself ten years ago, but he was happy.

The night he met Mycroft Holmes it had gotten dark early and had already been storming for several hours. Rain was pounding away at the windows and flooding the streets outside. He’d been about to lock up since he doubted anyone would be out in the awful weather or would want to come into his café.

But as he was putting away the glasses he’d finished cleaning, the bell he’d installed over the door rang.

Greg straightened and turned around, wiping his hands on the apron tied around his waist. He was just about to call out a greeting when two people stumbled through the doorway, dripping water and covered in mud.

Greg stared for a few seconds before he recovered and hurried around the counter. “Are you two alright?”

The man, wearing the very nice suit with the sleeves and cuffs slathered in mud and the shoes now mostly the color of mud with hair slicked with rain, straightened.

“A towel would be welcome, if you don’t mind,” he requested pleasantly, as if he weren’t leaving muddy footprints on Greg’s floor or making small puddles of water every time he moved.

Greg blinked at the man who, given his wardrobe (without the addition of mud) and voice, was probably a banker or government worker; yet had managed to be so thoroughly covered with mud. Then Greg managed to form the words, “Right, just a minute,” and hurried back behind the counter.

He grabbed the nearest- cleanest- towel from where he’d left it hanging from a cupboard door. And, even though he hadn’t meant to listen in, he heard the man quietly ask his female companion, “Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you.”

“No,” a light, pleasant on the ears, woman’s voice answered. The smile was audible as she added, “They’re the ones who fared badly. Is your brolly all right?”

Just in case Greg also took the towel from next to the sink, hoping two would be enough. He was coming back around to the front as the man answered, “Not very well, I’m afraid. Fortunately I still have others that are better suited to these times.”

“Are you planning on doing more legwork in the future, sir?” The woman asked, running her fingers through her long dark hair causing drops to fall from the ends. “I only ask because I would like some kind of fair warning then.”

“Tonight was unusual,” the man replied dismissively. He picked at the mud on the sleeve of his jacket, glaring at it in distaste. “I will do my best not to repeat it, if only for the sake of our clothes.”

Greg walked up to them and held out a towel to each. “Here, you can use these to clean off,” he offered. “Do you want anything to drink? Water, tea, coffee?”

“Tea please,” the man requested as he patted his face with the towel. He turned his attention to the woman next to him. “My dear?”

“A black coffee would be wonderful,” she said, using her towel to dry her hair.

Greg nodded and went to make the drinks, giving them time to clean up. He had made a new batch of coffee a while ago so it was probably still warm, and tea was easy to make. It only took a few minutes before he was returning to his unexpected guests carrying two steaming mugs.

His guests had managed to clean themselves up a little more while he’d been gone, and had stopped dripping. The warm temperature in the room seemed to be helping bring color back to their skin, but they still looked like they’d been drenched with rain. Hopefully the tea and coffee would help.

Greg handed the coffee over to the woman first. She took it with a small, grateful smile then brought the mug to her lips to drink.

He gave the tea to the man next; “I hope you like it,” Greg said as the man took the mug and wrapped long fingers around it. “I guessed what you’d like.”

The man’s mouth twitched in what could have been the beginnings of a smile; he slowly, almost dramatically, raised the mug to his lips. Greg felt a strange rush of anticipation as he waited for the man to tell him his opinion.

The man took a long sip from the mug then paused for a few seconds, and took another just as long drink.

Greg was almost completely certain the man was teasing him; and once he thought about it for a brief moment, Greg found he didn’t really mind. After this day with few customers- and those who did come in weren’t in very good moods- it was refreshing to have someone actually enjoy his drinks and do more than just demand something from him.

Of course this man was nearly drenched to the skin from the rain and his shoes and clothes were covered with mud; but it was still nice.

Finally the man lowered the mug again to reveal a small, pleased smile. “Excellent,” he commented appreciatively. “Thank you very much.”

Greg smiled; so the man did like the tea after all. “Good, I’m glad. That you… liked it, I mean.” What was he doing? He never stuttered like this. To fill the silence he held out his hand and finally introduced himself. “Greg, Lestrade.”

To Greg’s relief the man took his offered hand and shook it. “Mycroft Holmes.” He lifted the mug, “Thank you again for the tea.”

“You’re welcome,” Greg quickly replied, mostly out of habit. “Is there anything else I can help you with? I mean,” he laughed a little nervously. “I probably don’t have any spare clothes that would fit you, but you can stay here until you dry off. Or the rain stops, if that happens.”

“That’s very kind of you,” the man, Mycroft, thanked him. “I’m sorry for stumbling in on you like this; and for our appearance. Tonight was… an irregularity.”

“It’s all right,” Greg quickly reassured. “This is exciting after the day I’ve had. Can I get you another tea? Drinking hot liquids will help you warm up.”

He reached out and took the mug from Mycroft’s hands, and then realized there was still some tea left inside. “Oh, sorry. I’ll just get you a fresh cup.” Greg looked over his shoulder at the woman. “Would you like more?”

“Yes, please,” she agreed amiably, handing over the mug.

Greg smiled at her, taking it. “I’ll be right back.” He went off to the kitchen again.

As he went back behind the counter Greg called to them, “Take off as much of your wet clothing as you feel comfortable. I’ll turn up the heat a little.”

“Thank you, Gregory,” he heard Mycroft reply. Then there was a quiet conversation between Mycroft and his assistant? -he’d never asked- that was lost over the sound of the machine and kettle whistling.

By the time Greg came back into the room carrying two more steaming mugs the conversation was over. Mycroft was trying to rub the mud drying on his shoes, and the woman had gotten out her mobile and was tapping determinately on the keyboard.

He watched the two of them for a second before turning and walking over to Mycroft. “Everything all right?” Greg asked, curious, as he handed the new mug over.

“Perfectly,” the man answered shortly and took the mug.

“Mm,” Greg said not believing him. He tried to hand the other mug to the woman but she was focused intently on her mobile. He was a little tempted to wave the coffee under her nose to see if that would make her react, but she could possibly actually be doing something important so he didn’t.

Mycroft looked like the government types he’d dealt with- had to cooperate with- during his years at the Yard; especially the important ones who took complete control of their investigations. Well, Mycroft had looked the part before he’d taken off his jacket and the waistcoat he apparently wore underneath. Now he looked… a little more human.

“You picked a perfect night to go out,” Greg commented with a hint of teasing. He suddenly shivered and wondered how long it would take the place to heat up properly. The thermostat could be finicky at times.

Mycroft exhaled through his nose, looking exhausted. “As I may have mentioned, we did not choose to take our impromptu journey tonight. A set of circumstances we’d been waiting for came together unexpectedly and we decided we needed to act right away.”

“Even though there were many other people also available to act,” the woman spoke up in between sips of her coffee. “Others more accustomed to legwork.”

Mycroft turned to give her a look. “I thought you would appreciate the return to legwork, albeit brief. You have talents wasted behind a desk.”

She just smiled at him, mouth tugging upwards. The mobile held in one of her hands abruptly chimed and she pressed one of the keys. “The car is less than five minutes away.”

Greg found he didn’t really want them, Mycroft especially, to leave. “The heat doesn’t seem to be coming on; I’m sure I have a spare jacket somewhere…” He walked into the back and to the small space next to the stairs leading up to his rooms above the café.

There were hooks drilled into the wall with jackets hanging in case of emergencies. Greg picked up the two closest to him then hurried back to his guests.

Mycroft was drinking the rest of his tea when Greg thrust the jacket at him. At his startled blink Greg explained, “Take the jacket; I wouldn’t want you to catch cold because I forgot to offer you a jacket.”

That earned him a quick flicker of a smile. Mycroft gave him a quick nod and took the jacket carefully. “Thank you, Gregory.”

Greg shook his head indicating it was no problem. He walked to the woman and, out of years of habit, helped her slide it on. She seemed distracted by her mobile; but Greg had the feeling she was merely humoring him.

After he stepped away she glanced up and said a quiet, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Greg answered, wondering again what she was doing. He didn’t think she would tell so he turned his attention back to Mycroft- in time to see him not very elegantly pulling on the jacket.

When Mycroft noticed his gaze a few seconds later Greg was pleased, and a little surprised, to see a faint flush on his cheeks. Mycroft quickly- embarrassed?- shrugged on the jacket the rest of the way, covering the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. He cleared his throat and tugged at the jacket that didn’t fit him very well. “This is very warm.”

“One of my warmest,” Greg confirmed; “and perfect for this weather.” Suddenly inspired, he leaned closer and gave his best grin. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me exactly what you were doing out in the rain. What the legwork was for?” He asked, wondering if Mycroft would actually tell.

“No, Gregory,” Mycroft said after a slight pause. “I’m afraid that is classified government information.”

Of course it was, and he didn’t have any security clearance any more. If he asked Sally might be willing to look into it for him, but it would just be to satisfy his curiosity and he wouldn’t risk her career for that; and there was also the chance she’d tell him off for it.

Outside the rain drenched window a black car pulled up to the curb. The rear and front lights flashed once then a second later the woman’s mobile chimed again.

Mycroft turned his head towards the window even before the woman announced, “The car is outside.” Suddenly his expression went detached and when he spoke his tone was sharply polite. “Thank you for all your help, Gregory. Your tea was very refreshing and you were wonderfully accommodating.” The smile aimed at him was strained. “It was appreciated, especially on such a night.”

Greg was having a hard time believing this was how Mycroft was leaving their encounter, especially since it was likely they wouldn’t see each other again. People like them only met at rare chance times, not every day. And for Greg it had been a welcome change from his usual monotonous days making customers happy.

Mycroft was interesting; not only because he was so secretive about what he’d been doing out in the rain- tweaking Greg’s curiosity even more- but also because there was much more to Mycroft than he let show. And Greg wanted more than just the glimpse he’d gotten.

“Like I said, you’re more than welcome,” Greg said honestly. “I’m, glad you came in.”

Mycroft turned to him a last time, with a hint of his earlier, honest smile. “As am I.” Then he picked up the umbrella he’d left propped against the chair, and walked with the woman towards the front door.

She slipped out the door like a shadow and was gone.

Mycroft paused with one hand holding the door open to say, “Have a good evening, Gregory.” Then he was gone as well, leaving Greg alone again in his café.

Greg stood where he was for a while, staring at the closed door and the darkness outside the windows.

Finally Greg decided he could leave the rest of the cleaning up till morning. He took the used mugs into the kitchen, poured the rest of the water down the sink, then turned off the lights and locked the door before going upstairs.

Greg didn’t sleep very well that night.

~~~

Two days went by and, even though it was unrealistic, Greg still expected to see Mycroft again.

Five days passed and Greg told himself Mycroft had a very busy, important job and he was preoccupied with work.

Six days and Greg was well on his way to convincing himself it had just been a one off.

On the seventh day, two hours before he normally closed for the night, Greg looked up from reorganizing the register to find the woman who’d been with Mycroft that night standing on the other side of the counter.

Startled, he managed, “Uh, hello.”

She smiled at him, lips pressed together. “Hello.”

After the conversation didn’t go further than that, Greg asked on habit, “Would you like a drink? A coffee?”

“A coffee would be perfect, thank you.” She slipped a hand into the purse hanging from her shoulder. “I’ve been managing calls and crisis for most of the day.”

Greg slowly turned back to face her, mug in one hand. “So Mycroft’s- you’ve- been busy saving the world then?” He tried to contain his eagerness to hear the answer; she didn’t have to know, and he especially didn’t want Mycroft to find out, how disappointed he’d felt after not hearing from Mycroft after an entire week. It sounded stupid, like some kind of crush. It was all just because he’d really liked Mycroft.

“He’s been out of the country for most of the past week,” she explained as Greg poured the freshly made coffee into her mug. “Which means I’ve been playing his secretary.”

Holding the mug out to her he clarified, “So you’re not really his secretary?”

She laughed as if the idea was amusing. “Not in the usual description of the job, no. I do what I can to make Mr. Holmes’ life easier.” The woman took the mug from him and took a tentative sip. “That includes making sure he also remembers to have some semblance of a personal life; including acquaintances outside the politicians he interacts with for work.”

Greg wondered at that but said, “So you’re not here just for my coffee?”

“Not just, no,” she agreed. After another sip she pulled her hand from her purse, revealing a card held between two fingers.

When Greg didn’t take it after she held it out she frowned at him and shook her hand. He leaned over to look at it more closely then did take it.

He didn’t see her make a small, victorious smile and hide it behind her mug.

The card was fairly simple, thick stock, and more off-white than white. The only text on it was Mycroft’s name in plain print with a number underneath.

Greg flipped it over, wondering if there was something more on the back. But that was blank. Apparently Mycroft’s cards were just as mysterious as the man himself.

He looked up at the woman again to find she was looking amused. “Uhm, this is for...?” He asked confused.

“He prefers talking but will respond to texts, mostly,” she began, making it sound like an answer. “He should normally tell you if he’s going out of the country; if not, call me and I can tell you any unclassified information. It would also be good to text or call him every so often to stop him from getting lost in the work like he does. I may be his assistant, but I’m not his therapist.”

It sounded like getting involved with Mycroft, even as a friend, was a undertaking. But while his last relationship had taught him caution, Greg was also intrigued enough to give whatever this was a try. “It sounds like you take good care of him.”

“I try,” she countered. “But he doesn’t always make it very easy.” A thoughtful look crossed her face. “I feel I should also warn you that Mr. Holmes can be very... vigilant. You may find yourself looking over your shoulder.”

That was only a little worrying. “Uhm, alright then. Thank you for warning me?”

She nodded, looking oddly relieved. “I’ll remind him to call you in the next day or so. Unless something comes up he shouldn’t be extremely busy for a while.” She set her mug down on the counter. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome, it was the least I could do. Probably.” Greg carefully slid the card into his pocket. “Thanks for coming in, and for the card.”

“No problem at all.” She turned and started walking towards the front door. Strangely, no one else had come in since her. “I’ll be seeing you again soon I imagine, Mr. Lestrade.”

Then she slipped through the doorway and was gone, leaving Greg with the card burning a hole in his trouser pocket.

~~~

Two mornings later, just as he preparing to open by putting the clean mugs away in the cupboard and arranging the baked goods (although that was usually up to Mrs. Hudson), he heard someone clear their throat nearby.

Greg jumped, hitting his head on the top of the display. He cursed inelegantly and slowly stood up, pressing a hand to his head.

Mycroft Holmes smiled warmly in greeting, dressed in a full three piece suit with a brolly hanging off his arm even though it wasn't supposed to rain. “Good morning, Gregory.”

Greg stared before saying a somewhat strangled sounding, “M-morning.” He glanced over to the door. “How did you get in here?”

Mycroft’s smile turned mysterious. “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you sooner, there was an overseas matter I needed to take care of. But it’s settled now so I thought I would take the time to come see you.”

“Yes, your assistant said you’d been busy,” Greg said, sliding the door to the display closed. “She came in a few days ago.”

“How thoughtful of her,” Mycroft commented. “I’ll have to thank her somehow.”

Greg thought for a minute then suggested, “You could start by getting her coffee.” He glanced out the window over Mycroft’s shoulder. “Is she waiting in your ominous black car outside?”

That got him another smile. “No, she’s at the office managing everything in my place,” Mycroft explained. “Today I came on my own.”

“You have an incredible assistant,” Greg told him. “I’m glad to see you again.”

They stood there for what was probably longer than necessary smiling at each other.

Mycroft finally cleared his throat again and raised his hand above the counter, revealing the two hangers he was holding. “I brought the jackets you so kindly loaned to us.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Greg protested, noticing the name of the expensive cleaners on the plastic covering the jackets. “I mean, thank you for returning them. But you didn’t have to get them cleaned.”

“Nonsense,” Mycroft declared as he handed over the jackets. “It was a simple reciprocation for your kindness.”

Greg’s mouth twitched. He took the hangers and started towards the back of the cafe by the stairs. “If you have the time, have a seat at a table. I’ll bring you tea and something to eat.”

“I’ve already eaten breakfast,” Mycroft called as Greg disappeared around the corner. “But tea would be wonderful.”

In a rush Greg hung the jackets on the hooks then returned to the main room. “I won’t take no for an answer,” he admonished, smiling at Mycroft as he stopped at the end of the counter.

Greg paused when he was level with Mycroft on the other side of the counter. “The pastries are all delicious, but if you have a sweet tooth I’d recommend the croissant.”

Mycroft almost looked like he’d blanched. “Why would think I have a sweet tooth?”

What a strange reaction. “Because the tea I gave you last time was sweeter than most,” Greg said doing his best to sound teasing. “It’s one of my favorites actually.”

Mycroft’s tense expression eased just slightly. “Alright then, I’ll take whatever you suggest.”

“Great,” Greg said enthusiastically. “Take a seat and I’ll get you something.”

Instead of turning from the counter and walking to one of the nearby tables, Mycroft merely moved down the counter and sat at one of the stools.

“You’re sitting... there,” Greg said slowly, surprised. “Okay, I’ll just get you your tea.”

“No hurry, Gregory,” Mycroft reassured, settling onto the stool. He rested the brolly against the side of the counter and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

Smiling to himself Greg started making tea, heating the water. He could stand to wait to open for awhile, at least until his regulars became impatient and caffeine deprived. Soon the kettle was whistling, ready. Greg made sure to use the same tea as he’d used last time for Mycroft, letting it steep until it was strong and flavorful.

Greg slowly turned step by step so he wouldn’t spill any and walked the short distance to where Mycroft was sitting now. He set the mug down in front of Mycroft and warned, “Careful, it’s probably hot.”

Mycroft gave him a raised eyebrow that made Greg realize he was being ridiculously obvious. “Right,” he coughed. “Well just enjoy it then.”

That earned him yet another smile, making Greg happy. After a minute Mycroft asked, sounding curious, “Aren’t you having anything?”

“No,” Greg replied with a bark of laughter. “The last thing I need right now is more caffeine.”

Mycroft tilted his head a little at him. “Not a morning person, Gregory?”

Greg leaned in against the counter, resting his hands on the edge. “Mornings aren’t my favorite, no. But I’m used to long nights, and even longer days. It’s how my addiction to caffeine started in the first place.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed for a very brief second, considering. He ran that pale, observant gaze over Greg. The comfortable, warm atmosphere in the room changed, making Greg tense up.

The next few seconds dragged by slowly, the sick feeling in his stomach growing.

When Greg was about to say something just for the sake of saying something, Mycroft finally blinked. Understanding dawned across his face as he said a quiet, “Oh.”

What? What had Mycroft seen or thought he saw? “Sorry?”

His confusion must have shown since Mycroft quickly smoothed his expression and smiled instead. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to worry you. I only meant since your previous occupation involved long hours and an uncertain schedule, you needed caffeine to stay awake. It also follows logically you would open a cafe, giving yourself a constant source of caffeine.” He added knowingly, “You enjoy sharing your love of drinks and giving people what they need.”

“The first step is admitting it,” Greg returned, teasing. But he regretted it after the there and gone again flicker in Mycroft’s eyes. He quickly continued, “You’re right, I’ve been drinking coffee for years. But, as long as its good coffee, it’s not such a bad thing.”

“I imagine,” Mycroft hummed. “After drinking your coffee I can understand why.”

Greg smiled, again feeling pride that Mycroft liked his tea. “Thank you.”

A loud pounding at the front of the cafe drew their attention. Greg turned first to see that a crowd had gathered outside the door in the last few minutes. One more impatient man had started pounding on the glass window in the door to try and get their attention.

Greg rolled his eyes; “If only I could still arrest them for disturbing the peace and generally being idiots.” He pulled away from the counter and start moving towards the door. “At least they’re not press.”

Mycroft watched him on his progress across the floor. “In my limited experience with the press it is best to be very selective with what details you allow them to know.”

Greg paused just as he was about to pass Mycroft. “You have experience with the press?”

“Only indirectly, of course,” Mycroft admitted with a slight shrug. “I am not fond of those kinds of people. But I can sympathize with you for having to play their games for many years.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Greg agreed then started walking again. When he was at the door he glanced over his shoulder to see Mycroft had turned around on the stool to watch him.

Greg smiled at Mycroft then reached out to undo the lock on the door with a soft ‘click.’ As soon as the door was unlocked the crowd outside calmed down and shuffled into the semblance of a line.

Good to know his customers weren’t complete animals. Greg waited for them to get in order before he flipped the sign hanging on the door to ‘open.’ Then, after a deep breath, Greg pulled open the door.

The first person rushed through the doorway then was quickly followed by the rest of the crowd. One or two people greeted him as they passed, but most were too intent on getting to the counter.

The secret of Greg’s cafe was that he did have the usual drinks typically served at cafes and other such places listed on the board on the wall behind the counter. But only his regulars and repeat customers knew how lenient he was about what drinks he would make. He could make the cappuccinos, espresso, lattes, and the rest perfectly. But he could- would- also make drinks customized to his customers taste and preference.

As he slid back behind the counter Greg glanced over at Mycroft one more time. The other man was facing the counter again, leaning forward, his fingers brushing lightly up and down the sides of the mug in his hands.

Greg nodded at the mug and tilted his head, hoping Mycroft would understand the silent question.

Mycroft apparently did; he slowly shook his head and with a glance indicated the crowd gathered at the counter. Then he looked away again and started tapping the lip of the mug with a fingertip.

Greg stopped himself at the sight because even though he didn’t know Mycroft very well, yet, that action seemed odd. He’d almost think that Mycroft was bored and wanted to leave, but until now Greg hadn’t gotten any indication of that. Mycroft could have left a long time ago- after he handed over the jackets, after Greg offered him tea, after the crowd came pouring in the door; but he’d stayed and talked and interacted with Greg like he really wanted to be there.

Maybe it was a nervous habit, even though Greg didn’t think Mycroft was the type to have nervous habits; or one of impatience or maybe just thoughtful. It could have not even been a habit at all. Maybe Mycroft didn’t even know about it, except Greg suspected Mycroft knew everything.

Greg made a mental note to himself to think about all this later when he had time. For now he walked over to greet his first customer of the day.

~~~

To his astonishment Mycroft stayed in the cafe and nearby him for the rest of the morning. He barely even moved from the stool he’d originally sat on.

Each time Greg looked over to see Mycroft was still there he felt a fresh wave of... something- happiness? He couldn’t be sure. But maybe.

He was just glad Mycroft had stayed even though Greg was sure he must have much more important things to be doing. It was nice having someone to talk to between waves of customers instead of taking the time to restock the cupboard with clean mugs or the display under the counter with goods. It did get lonely sometimes managing and running things on his own; lately the days when Sally came in were rare.

He didn’t like to admit it, but there were days when having only his lonely rooms upstairs to go home to made him reminiscent for his married days- even with how much of a mess his marriage had turned out to be. This cafe had been his attempt at a fresh start.

They were half an hour or so away from the usual start of the lunch rush, Greg was checking he had everything ready while keeping an ear out for if Mycroft said anything. While he was putting some sandwiches together Greg heard Mycroft call his name.

He stuck his head out through the open doorway to the kitchen and called, “Yeah?”

Mycroft was just standing from his stool and shrugging on a jacket. “I’m afraid I have to leave you; there’s a crisis growing at the office which Anthea can apparently not take care of herself.”

“Oh.” Greg tried to smile, but had a feeling it wasn’t one of his better attempts. “Well thanks for coming in. It was good to see you.”

Mycroft turned to look at him with the smile he didn’t seem to practice often. “And you, Gregory. I was very happy for your company.”

Greg found himself fighting back what could have been interpreted as an overly emotional request for Mycroft to stay. He wasn’t that needful for company; and the ‘crisis’ was probably actually very important. He didn’t want Mycroft to get into trouble or for the world to end just because he kept Mycroft too long.

So instead he said calmly, “Come again as soon as you want. It was nice having you here.”

Mycroft went very still in the midst of reaching under the counter. He slowly looked up at Greg with a expression Geg couldn’t really read but would, if he had to choose, call surprise.

“Thank you,” Mycroft replied, the words halting. “I’ll do my best.”

Mycroft straightened and tugged idly at the cuff on his jacket. “I believe you have my card and my number; if you’re free sometime this week you can call and we could arrange... a dinner, perhaps?”

“Yeah, yes. That’d be great,” Greg agreed maybe a little too enthusiastically. But he looked forward to spending more time with Mycroft again. And while going to dinner together could technically be called a date, Greg didn’t think Mycroft meant it that way. It was perfectly acceptable for friends to go out for a meal together. And Mycroft was someone Greg wanted to get to know better.

To his relief Mycroft didn’t seem put off by his eagerness. He actually smiled at little. “Wonderful, I’ll wait for your call.”

“And I will,” Greg reaffirmed. “Call, that is.” God, he sounded like a lovestruck teenager. “I’ll call you.”

The corners of Mycroft’s eyes wrinkled in a way Greg hoped meant he was amused. “I’ll be waiting.”

Then Mycroft turned around and went to the door. The bell hung on top rang twice before he was gone.

Greg didn’t realize Mycroft had left something behind until his next customer held a sleek black umbrella out to him and asked, “Did you know this was under the counter?”

It was a sign of some sort, or a promise. His old instincts from his days as an officer made it hard to be anything but practical, and his belief in romance had been tested thoroughly by his marriage, but... he was willing to try with Mycroft and test the waters.

~~~

Friday mid-morning Sally showed up at the store looking like she hadn’t seen her bed or had a wink of sleep in over a week. He’d be worried, he was, if not for her slightly unhinged smile and the spark in her eyes that meant a successful end to a rough case.

Sally’s traditional celebration method for a successful case was going home and sleeping soundly until the moment she was called in again. But that was only after a late night out, a very late one.

Back when he was her superior they’d gone out for many such celebrations together, although he’d never been able to completely keep up with her. They’d drifted apart after he’d left (resigned) and then started this cafe; but she still called him about the strange cases, to talk, or least often to go for drinks.

Apparently today was one of those days. She came up to the counter, skirting around the tables and his last customer drifting away across the room.

Sally grinned at him. “Boss-”

“Sorry Sally, I can’t-” Greg quickly apologized, cutting her off.

Her surprised reaction was a widening of her eyes and a half minutes hesitation. Then she frowned at him and asked, “What more important thing could you possibly have planned?”

He smirked at her. “I don’t just sit at home at night twiddling my thumbs, Sally. I’m not too old for a night life.”

She must have heard something in his voice because she laughed, a playful smirk twisting her lips. “Oh this is good. So what exactly do you supposed have planned?”

“I have,” he replied, drawing it out just to tease her, “a date in fact.”

This time she stared at him for a full minute, maybe more even. Finally she blinked. “A date?”

Sally sounded incredulous. “Yes, a date. A time when two people who enjoy each others company go out for food and drinks,” Greg clarified, doing his best not to sound too condescending.

Sally laughed at that, amused. “Right. So who’s the lucky girl? And where’s she taking you?”

“We’re going to,” Greg stopped when he realized he didn’t actually remember what the place was called. He pulled the notebook he was still in the habit of carrying with him out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Uhm,” he squinted at the name he’d written down and made an attempt to pronounce it.

Obviously he hadn’t mangled it too badly because Sally looked very surprised. “Really? Boss that place is fancy. There’s a waiting list for months. How did your date get a table?”

“I don’t know,” Greg said honestly, a little startled by this new information. He hadn’t expected Mycroft to invite him somewhere so nice. And that could be why Mycroft hadn’t exactly told him what the restaurant was like when he’d called to tell Greg about their reservation. Maybe next time they could go to somewhere a little more low-key; if there was a next time. “But I guess we are going there tonight.”

Sally smiled in an almost proud way. “Well you’d better have fun Boss. On your date.” She winked. “And I expect full details about how it turned out. Except if you turn it into a very late night, then call me much later.”

Greg shook his head at her. “I won’t be telling you either way, Sally. But thanks... for your ‘support.’”

This time her wink was much more suggestive. “Have fun!” Then she quickly turned around and left through the door.

At least he apparently had one person in favor of this, whatever this might turn into. And Sally knew about his last relationship, she’d been the one to help him through the fast downhill slide his marriage had ended in. That was probably why she was being so supportive.

~~

Somehow the conversation with Sally made him worry more instead of making him more relaxed as the ‘date’ grew closer. He hadn’t really been worried after Mycroft called, just curious to know how the two of them would get along when they were alone without any interruptions. If they were as compatible as Greg thought and hoped.

He hadn’t dated at all since the divorce and his resignation from the Yard, hadn’t even considered it. But he thought Mycroft was a chance, a good one, and worth everything.

~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the promised second part and end to this story!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, comments/feedback appreciated.
> 
> I also forgot to mention I have revamped my tumblr, so feel free to stop by if you want! dreamingofjapan.tumblr.com
> 
> See you at the next story in this series! ;3

The dinner went well, amazingly well.

Once they’d ordered drinks and settled in at their table Greg let himself relax and enjoy the evening. Mycroft had taken a little longer to get comfortable- it didn’t seem like he did this very often either- but did, eventually.

By the time their meals arrive they’d managed to successfully carry a conversation without too many awkward pauses. He’d gotten Mycroft to smile twice (at least), more if not-quite-smiles counted, and Mycroft had made him laugh more than that. Mycroft hadn’t told Greg much about himself, and Greg hadn’t felt like discussing his (failed) past. But there were still lots of other things for them to talk about.

The entire dinner, even through desert, and another drink, they never ran out of topics to discuss. Sometimes Mycroft carefully evaded certain subjects with an abrupt but easy change of conversation, but Greg didn’t make a point of pointing it out. He could tell when there were things Mycroft couldn’t- or wouldn’t- talk about.

Even with his expensive suits, probably weaponized brolly, strange hours, and matchmaking assistant, Mycroft was so different from the government types Greg had interacted with before. Greg had respect for the law, and the government- that was why he had wanted to be part of the Yard and put criminals away. But he had a hard time when politics were made more important than making people safe. He was glad that, as far as he could tell, Mycroft took his job very seriously and was fully committed to it.

Of course Mycroft was much more than just his job. Throughout their dinner, which went by much faster than time usually did, Greg learned a lot of interesting facts about his dinner partner. He found out that Mycroft enjoyed reading, mainly non fiction but every so often he indulged in the classics; preferred tea over coffee but would drink coffee if it was necessary and he needed energy; listened to opera but preferred live classical music; was willing to try exotic food at least once; and never went anywhere without his phone even though he really did prefer to talk in person.

By the end of the evening Greg had become slightly tipsy- maybe a little more than- and couldn’t remembering enjoying himself more in the past few years. Mycroft was great company and Greg felt extremely grateful for the chance that had made Mycroft come into his cafe after whatever he and Anthea had gotten themselves into that night. Good things like this rarely happened to him anymore.

After they were finally finished with dinner they paid separately for their meals- even though Mycroft tried to convince Greg to let him pay for both- and said goodbye out on the sidewalk. Greg took a cab home and went to bed nearly right after, only to stay awake staring at the ceiling going over the dinner in his head for hours.

The next morning Greg opened the cafe more than an hour later than he normally did. He hadn’t thought it would be a good idea to try and open earlier since it had already taken him long to even get out of bed and stumble down into the cafe. Really he was only as awake as he was because of his wonderful personal coffee machine upstairs in his kitchenette. The thing was a miracle worker.

Of course some potential customers weren’t very pleased that he hadn’t opened on time, especially those who needed to be at work but needed coffee first. But Greg found he didn’t really care after the amazing night he’d had.

He quickly started serving those who had been lined up outside his door, and when they had all gone away happy he moved to making sandwiches. As he worked to make up the time he’d lost earlier that morning the thought crossed his mind- as it had before- that it would be nice to have another body around the shop. If he tried hard enough he could do everything on his own, but it would be nice to delegate.

Maybe he could finally convince Sally to come work with him. No, she loved her job and she was a great officer. He didn’t want to take her away from the outstanding work he knew she was capable of. So he’d just keep doing what he was, and carry on.

While he was arranging the sandwiches he’d made on a tray Greg heard the bell over the door ring.

Instead of looking up he called, “Be right with you!”

“What’s so interesting about you?” A sharp voice demanded critically.

Greg jerked, just barely avoiding hitting his head. He took a steadying breath then slowly looked up.

Perched there, like a bird of prey, was a scarecrow. Or what looked very like a scarecrow. A young man, barely a man really, glaring at him. But the glare was diminished by the wet wool coat dripping water and weighing him down like a stone. The rain had plastered the strands of his long dark hair to his head.

He looked so young, and soaked to the bone... and upset with him.

Greg mentally shook himself. “Sorry?”

“What, is so interesting about you,” the boy clipped out, not framing it as a question this time.

Greg straightened to his full height and rested his hands on the edge of the counter. “I’m actually very interesting. Once you get to know me.”

The boy scoffed as if he didn’t believe that for even a half second. “You own a cafe; and while that is not a typical occupation, it is not unique. You have no political influence, and are loyal to the government and your country. What interest could you possibly hold for him?”

“Sorry,” Greg said, confused. “Who are you talking about? And who are you?”

A pale gaze met his for a few seconds then swept down to his feet and back up. “A former officer of the Yard, unexpected. But still not an explanation. What could he possibly see in you?”

“Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you need to go.” Greg commanded angrily. He raised a hand to point across the room to the door.

That earned him a twitch of lips that could, once, be considered a smirk. “You don’t command me... Sargent. But I am going.” He paused for a long second. “Just know, you’re making a mistake.”

He turned away, as if making to leave; but then he turned back to consider Greg from a side angle. “It won’t last,” the boy told him, sounding very sure of himself. “One, perhaps two months at the most before he breaks it off claiming it isn’t working.” He stepped close again, leaning over the counter just slightly. “But the truth is,” the boy said quietly, eyes gleaming, “sentiment, and caring, are not an advantage.”

What the hell did that mean? And who was this boy to judge and make such comments about his relationship with Mycroft? How was it that his life had become so strange when he used to lead such an ordinary life?

Greg clenched his hands into fists again for a moment then pointed at the door again, a little more aggressively this time. Instead of saying anything, it didn’t seem like it’d worked so far, Greg just glared pointedly at the boy and hoped he would take the hint.

The boy smiled sharply at him, a look Greg definitely did not like. Then he spun around- a little dramatically in that coat even though it must have been heavy with rain- and finally left. Actually left.

After the door slammed closed with a soft ring from the bell Greg spent a few minutes staring out the windows. He tried to process what had just happened because, really, it had sounded like a warning- but about Mycroft? Surely there were more dangerous people out there in the world than Mycroft Holmes.

Finally Greg shook his head and slid his hand into the pocket of his trousers to pull out his phone. He’d programmed Mycroft’s number in a few days earlier, so all he had to do was press a few buttons before it started ringing on the other end.

He and Mycroft had had a few conversations over the phone during their brief acquaintance so far, one short the other longer, but the majority of their correspondence had been by texts; as much as Mycroft supposedly disliked texting.

On the other end the phone only rang three times before there was a click and someone picked up. “Good morning, Mr. Holmes’ office,” was his greeting.

“Hello Anthea, is Mycroft available?”

He could hear her smiling as she answered, “He’s doing paperwork at the moment, so I’m sure he would welcome a distraction. Is this just a social call, or is there a problem?”

“I... don’t know,” Greg answered honestly since he wasn’t exactly sure just what was going on. “Possibly a problem?”

Anthea didn’t speak right away; instead there was a long pause, more than a minute it felt like, before he heard a soft ‘click.’ “Lestrade?” She finally called, her voice softer and more reassuring now, “What’s wrong?”

He let out a slow breath, leaning forward so most of his weight rested on his elbow propped up on the counter. The tension and rush of worry he’d been experiencing faded now that he was talking to someone about it. “There, there was a man just in here, a boy really,” Greg started to say, a little shaken still and knowing he wasn’t doing a very good job of explaining. “He talked about Mycroft. I think he was warning me off him, but- he didn’t exactly say that. He said what we’re doing was a mistake, like he actually knew anything about it.”

Greg stopped, thinking over the very short, mainly one-sided conversation. “And he said a few times that he couldn’t see what was so interesting about me.”

If he didn’t think better of her Greg thought he’d heard Anthea curse softly under her breath. “Lestrade, what, exactly did this man look like?” She asked of him, sounding rushed. “Describe him to me.”

The sharpness in her voice confused him. He’d only called to learn if the man was a threat to Mycroft and if he needed to watch out for him again. He hadn’t expected her to so urgently demand questions from him.

“Anthea, I’m sure it’s all fine,” Greg quickly tried to reassure her. “I just wanted-”

“Gregory,” she almost but not quite snapped at him, cutting him off and using his first name for the first time. “Describe him to me.”

Greg was tongue-tied for a quick second; but then he did start describing as best as he could, pretending he was identifying a suspect. “Pale skin, really pale; taller than me since I had to look up; thin like he hadn’t eaten in a while; his eyes were blue or green it was hard to tell; long, scraggly black hair, longer than a lot of guys wear it.” Greg thought hard for a long second then remembered, “And he was wearing a long heavy coat, it looked like wool. And expensive.”

Anthea took a sharp breath. “I’m transferring you over to Mr. Holmes now. Tell him everything you told me. Everything.”

“What? Anthea-”

“It’s important, Gregory,” she admonished.

Then there was a mechanical ‘click’ and a second later Mycroft greeted him happily, “Gregory, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect you to call so soon.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Greg replied without thinking then quickly backpedaled. “Not so soon I mean. But I was going to call, tonight. Probably.” He paused then added, a little calmer, “I was, honestly.”

“I believe you,” Mycroft replied sounding completely calm and maybe a little amused. He heard the sound of papers being shuffled. “As I said, it’s good to hear from you.”

Greg bit his tongue and thought for a second. He really was glad to talk to Mycroft but he didn’t want to bother the man. “Mycroft, if you’re busy-”

“Nonsense Gregory,” Mycroft chided, sounding surprised that Greg had even mentioned it. “I’m only signing paperwork. And while it is important; as I’m sure you’re aware from your years as an officer, doing so holds no entertainment at all.”

Greg laughed darkly. “You’re right; it’s not fun at all. And it never ends, there’s always stacks of it.”

“Even more when the government is involved,” Mycroft commented dryly, sounding tired. “I like to make sure everything is in order, just to be completely certain.” His voice sharpened. “I dislike mistakes.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise Greg at all. “Mycroft, I did call for a reason. Other than just to talk to you I mean. It’s probably nothing, but,” he sighed and resisted the urge to rest his head against the top of the counter. “It’s probably nothing, but apparently Anthea thought different since she told me to tell you about it.”

“Anthea?” Mycroft repeated, sounding taken aback. “Why?”

Greg shook his head. “I can’t even begin to understand the workings of your assistants mind. Or any females mind.”

“I see.” Mycroft replied. “One moment Gregory, please don’t hang up,” Mycroft told him just before there was yet another ‘click.’

“Anthea what is so important?” He overheard Mycroft ask his assistant. “Not that I don’t enjoy talking with Gregory, but-”

For the first time in a while Anthea actually interrupted her boss. “Has he told you why he called yet?”

“No,” Greg could hear the frown. “Is that what is so important?”

Anthea could be heard taking a deep breath. It was the most worried he’d ever heard her. “Judging by Lestrade’s description, it’s very possible he had a... ‘conversation,’ with him.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on Mycroft’s end. “Are you sure? It’s been a long time, why would he-”

“Talk with Lestrade, let him tell you,” Anthea advised. “And draw your own conclusions.”

“Yes, of course,” Mycroft agreed, then coughed as if he was clearing his throat. “Thank you.”

There was another ‘click’ then Mycroft asked him, “Gregory, what did this man look like? What exactly did he say? Tell me absolutely everything, and leave nothing out no matter how small it may seem.”

“Uhm, well,” Greg said, getting off to a good start. Finally he mostly just repeated what he’d said to Anthea. “I thought he was warning me off you, like he was threatening me if we kept spending time together. But now after I think about it it sounded more like a really strange take on the ‘break his heart and I’ll break you’ kind of speech you hear from siblings or fathers.”

From the other end of the line there was a long pause. Greg could almost hear Mycroft’s mind whirling. Then there was the sound of movement, a chair being pushed back, papers gathered, and over the noise Mycroft said, “Gregory, I’m coming over there. With traffic I’ll be less than a half hour. I need you to do me a favor and close your store for the rest of the day.” Before Greg could even think to protest Mycroft added, “I’ll make up any business lost for your trouble I promise.”

“I suppose I can do that,” Greg agreed sounding much more reluctant than he was. He went around the counter and to the front door to flip the sign. The place was already empty since no customers had come in within the last hour. The entire day had been worryingly slow. He’d barely seen anyone.

He heard Mycroft’s footsteps and the sound of a door closing. “Before I go, Gregory, one more thing. Did you see what direction he came from or what direction he went when he left?”

“Not where he came from, I wasn’t watching the door,” Greg admitted, feeling a little like he was letting Mycroft down given how worried the man sounded. “But I did see when he left, and he went... right.”

“Interesting,” Mycroft mused; “Thank you, Gregory,” he said warmly. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Anthea-” Greg heard Mycroft call before the dial tone sounded in his ear.

Greg sighed irritably and snapped the phone closed. Then he slid it into his pocket with a soft sigh. Even with Mycroft’s more than generous offer it wasn’t likely he’d lose much business closing this early, and he didn’t mind not having to deal with customers the rest of the day. The encounter with the boy, who ever he was- and he seemed important to Mycroft- hadn’t shaken him but Greg wasn’t sure he’d be able to concentrate the rest of the day.

The question was what was he going to do to keep occupied until Mycroft arrived.

Greg turned around, leaning against the sturdy frame of the door. As much as he hated cleaning, it was good to be in the habit of keeping his store clean- including all the washing and clearing tables and wiping up floors. So he might as well get to work.

It actually took Mycroft even less than a half hour before he was knocking on the glass pane of the door. Greg didn’t want to know exactly how Mycroft had managed that but he was very glad to see him.

Greg tossed the rag he’d been using down on the table and hurried to the door. Before he opened the door he wiped his hands on his trousers then pulled it open.

Mycroft looked up to greet Greg with a strained smile. “Hello Gregory. May I come in?”

“Course you can,” Greg replied quickly, holding the door open for Mycroft and waving him in.

Mycroft’s smile grew incrementally. “Thank you.”

Greg closed the door behind Mycroft then led him over to the counter. “Do you want anything? Still on me.”

“You can’t continue offering me drinks without also asking me to pay for them,” Mycroft chided while still sounding amused. And maybe a little surprised that Greg had offered. “It isn’t necessary.”

Greg waved him off. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” He walk to and behind the counter and started to make the drink that was quickly becoming Mycroft’s. Even with his back to the rest of the room Greg heard Mycroft pull out the stool and sit.

They sat in comfortable silence for awhile, the only noises Greg taking down a mug and the tea and then the kettle as it heated. Finally it started whistling; Greg quickly picked it up and poured the steaming water into the mug along with the tea he’d put in earlier.

“Gregory,” Mycroft’s voice called softly, a shadow of hesitation in the word.

Greg put the kettle back down to stay warm and turned around. “Teas ready,” he announced. Then he saw Mycroft’s expression and stopped where he was, ignoring the hot liquid nearly burning his fingers through the sides of the mug. “Mycroft?” Greg asked curiously, continuing forward slowly.

Mycroft glanced up at him and exhaled. Instead of answering he reached out and took the mug Greg was holding out to him. He held it in his hands to warm them a little then raised it to his lips.

Greg waited patiently for Mycroft to take a long sip, then another, and yet another before he finally set the mug down. Greg was patient and didn’t push Mycroft for what was wrong now, or what else was wrong. Whatever this was about, it was important. Enough to make Mycroft very worried.

It took Mycroft longer to finally speak after seconds of tapping his fingers against the mug. “Gregory,” he said again. “Gregory, I-” Mycroft cleared his throat almost nervously.

Greg shifted restlessly; he leaned against the counter then quickly straightened again. “Myc-”

“What did he look like?” Mycroft said rapidly, almost blurting the question. “The man who spoke to you, what was he like?”

Greg shook his head. “I don’t- I already told you that Mycroft. I told you everything I remember.”

“No, that wasn’t what I meant,” Mycroft said. Suddenly he looked much older than Greg had thought. “I meant...” he paused like he was searching for the words. “When he looked at you, were his eyes clear? Focused? Was he slurring at all? Were there circles under his eyes? Was he shaking, twitching?”

“Mycroft...” Greg said lowly, because he knew full well what all of those put together meant. And Mycroft didn’t sound like he was worried about a possible threat, he sounded as worried as Greg had once been for those he cared about. “Just who is this boy?”

“Please Gregory; just tell me first,” Mycroft nearly pleaded softly.

It really wasn’t asking much. Not when Greg thought about it. “I didn’t see any of those things. He was speaking clearly, cutting really. He looked at me like he could read my mind, like he knew everything about me. And, he was thin, looked like he’d been in the rain for days. But not like he was on something. Just tired and definitely not taking care of himself.”

Mycroft looked like he was about to collapse where he was sitting on the stool. “Thank goodness,” he said on an exhale; the tension draining from his form.

“Mycroft?” Greg asked.

“The man was my brother, Sherlock,” Mycroft explained for him. “I haven’t seen him in several years, not since he left university before finishing his degree. He’s managed to stay out of my sight since then, although I’m certain he’s been in London.” Mycroft raised his head, nearly but not quite meeting Greg’s eyes. “You’re the first to see and converse with him in that time at least as far as I am aware.”

“Why me?” Greg asked, surprised. “If he’s been missing all that time, why would he come out of hiding to talk to me?”

“You said he warned you against continuing to spend time with me. He advised you wouldn’t be able to hold my interest because you weren’t interesting enough,” Mycroft stated in a way that made it sound like that was an answer itself.

“Yes?” Greg agreed but he didn’t understand what Mycroft was trying to get at.

Mycroft looked at him for a few seconds as if he could will him to understand by using force of will. Then his mouth twitched and Mycroft answered, “I believe that while he was staying out of sight and avoiding me, Sherlock was keeping an eye on me in return and monitoring my actions. Somehow it came to his attention that we were seeing each other and he wanted to see you for himself.”

Greg wasn’t sure if he should feel pleased about being such a part of Mycroft’s life that his brother was intrigued enough to check on him, or worried at how intrusive the brother was to come and personally see what he was like. Taking into account what the boy had said to him, it hadn’t sounded like a protective younger brother.

“So he came out from wherever he’s been hiding all these years just because we started talking?” Greg asked since the idea seemed very unreal. “Why didn’t he just go directly to you?”

Mycroft’s laugh was hollow, the corners of his eyes creased. “There’s a reason we haven’t spoken or seen each other in years, Gregory. Sherlock and I have numerous differences; the last time we were together we had a... severe disagreement.”

“What kind of ‘severe disagreement?’ Siblings argue all the time, it’s not unusual,” Greg told Mycroft while trying very hard not to be amused by all this. “Though I don’t think most take it to the point of not talking for years.”

“One where we had a very strong difference of opinion,” Mycroft said with a soft sigh. “We argued, as we often did; and soon afterwards Sherlock left university and disappeared.”

Greg being an only child, he didn’t completely understand the rivalry between many siblings. He also didn’t understand having a argument so awful brothers wouldn’t talk for years and one would vanish completely. He’d had his own fair share of thunderous arguments, especially with his ex-wife, but never any that bad. “What did you argue about?” Greg asked then added quickly, “If you’ll tell me.”

Mycroft twitched his mouth a little. “Sherlock hasn’t thought well of me since I ‘abandoned’ him when I left for university myself. He also didn’t take it well when I suggested he finish instead of running off to London and creating a career as a detective like he’d mentioned repeatedly.” He shifted and clasped his hands together. “Sherlock has never seen the point of what he calls tedious, pointless jobs. He’s unable to understand why I would want to work for the government ‘pushing papers’’ as he says.”

“But you’re not one of those people who push papers,” Greg stated plainly even though that was really just a hunch. He didn’t know for sure and Mycroft had never told him outright.

Mycroft finally smiled at him. “No, that’s true. But Sherlock and I haven’t been in touch and he’s not at all interested in what I actually do. He merely sees it as another tool to help my spying on him.”

Greg blinked. “Do you spy on him?” He asked puzzled. And a little worried.

Before Mycroft answered Greg reached out to take away the mug. It wasn’t empty like he’d thought, which made Greg realize he hadn’t seen Mycroft drinking the tea. But he still picked it up and turned to the counter behind him to make a fresh cup.

“I wouldn’t say spying,” Mycroft finally answered quietly. “I merely worry about him, and I like to keep an eye out for his wellbeing.”

“Mm,” Greg hummed as he started to reheat the water. After a long pause he asked, “Do you think he’ll show up again?”

Mycroft ‘hummed’ faintly, tapping the wooden surface of the counter. “It is possible. Sherlock has always been irrepressibly curious.”

“That’s all you think this is? Him being curious?” Mycroft knew his brother better than what Greg could just guess at about Sherlock. But this sounded like more than basic curiosity.

Mycroft’s reply was an answer, but not an answer to the question he’d asked. “I have Anthea looking for him and any traces or signs he may have left behind. Soon we’ll have the video from the CCTV cameras and can track him more easily through London. Sherlock may be talented at hiding, he always has been, but eventually he’ll reappear.”

“Good,” Greg affirmed a little strongly. “I’d like to have an actual, normal conversation with him.”

“I’m afraid Sherlock doesn’t approve of nor follows proper social conventions,” Mycroft warned in the tone of a harried older brother. “Most of your conversations with him are likely to follow the same vein, except for him possibly letting you say one or two more things. Never an actual discussion.”

“The least I can do is try,” Greg said as he poured out the newly heated water. “First impressions aren’t always the best.”

“Or the second, or the third,” Mycroft added in a quiet aside to himself. In a normal voice he said, “That is likely the reason why Sherlock did not find the police as welcoming as he’d hoped.”

Greg spun around at the mention of the police, careful not to spill the very hot water. “What about the police?”

Mycroft sighed in a way typically accompanied by an eye roll. “Ever since he read a news article in the papers when he was younger, Sherlock has been intent on becoming a detective consulting with the police to solve crimes.”

“A detective?” Greg repeated, setting the mug down before he hurt himself. “In the police?”

“Goodness, no,” Mycroft laughed. “Sherlock dislikes regulation just as much as he dislikes most normal social conventions.”

“A consultant then,” Greg was skeptical. He shook his head, “The Yard doesn’t bring on just anyone. Especially amateurs who think they’re smart enough to solve crimes on their own.”

“Exactly, hence our disagreement,” Mycroft replied with a slight nod. “I suspect he wasn’t pleased when the police refused his help. It’s likely why he tried to disappear even further.”

“Seems to have done a good job of it,” Greg observed. “It’s a shame he couldn’t work with the police like he wanted to, but it’s not typical for the yard to hire on consultants except in-”

“Yes, I know,” Mycroft interrupted quickly. “That is why I tried to stop him from following his intention to be a consulting detective, his own term; but it has been too many years since he listened to me.”

Greg set the mug down on the counter behind him, next to the kettle. “So because he couldn’t be a consulting detective, your brother disappeared? That sounds like a tantrum.”

“Sherlock doesn’t like to be wrong, ever,” Mycroft explained with a very faint smile. “He also dislikes being told no or being denied. In that vein my brother was very upset when I explained he couldn’t be a pirate when he was older.”

A few snickers escaped his mouth before Greg couldn’t help himself and broke out into giggles. He didn’t know the boy well at all, but he could not imagine the sharp tongued boy as a pirate. Especially with an eye patch and sword, in charge of a crew.

Mycroft looked like he was very close to joining in with the laughter, and only managing it by smiling instead. “Sherlock enjoyed adventure stories, it was one of the few ways to make him stay still for more than a minute or so.”

Greg snickered. “Your brother sounds very interesting.” He sobered slightly. “I’ll tell you if he shows up again, Mycroft. I promise. I won’t let him just disappear again. But you have to promise to talk to him and not force him into anything.”

“Gregory-”

“Mycroft,” Greg replied firmly.

For a few seconds Mycroft gave him that same searching look from before. Greg didn’t know what he was looking for, but he hoped Mycroft would find it. Finally Mycroft sighed and nodded, looking unsure but at least willing to try. “Very well. I promise I will try. But nothing is ever absolute when it comes to my brother.”

“I’m just glad you agree to try,” Greg soothed but then commented, “And if there are fireworks when you meet again, I want to be there for them.”

That earned him an honest laugh. “All right.”

“Perfect,” Greg declared. He raised the mug in the air. “Now why don’t I refill this for you, and you tell me all about your week at work.”

~~~

Exactly seven days, one night together, and a long lunch later, Sherlock showed up again.

This time it was during the lunch hour rush right as a steady stream of customers poured through the door to snap orders and requests at him. He’d already thought several times that he wanted the day to be over already.

He handed over a steaming cup of fresh coffee to his latest customer, kept the change as he was told, and made himself smile at the next person. He made that person a sandwich and a black tea, and handed it over. He didn’t get any thanks for that, of course. But luckily they were the last in line and hopefully the last in the current rush.

Greg leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge with his hands, just so he wouldn’t slump over it. Some days...

He let out a very long, slow breath and squeezed his eyes closed. A mug of tea would help fix this; or at least it would make a good start. A conversation with Mycroft would also probably help but he had said he’d be in meetings for most of the day.

Greg pushed himself off the counter with more effort than it should’ve taken. And as he raised his head Greg spotted a black scarecrow leaning against the wall just inside the door.

He froze, frowning even though it wouldn’t help him see better. He wasn’t old enough for glasses and he wouldn’t wear them. But it was like the idiot was purposefully standing just where it would be hard for him to see.

“You, Sherlock!” Greg called across the room.

The boy startled, like a dog that caught a scent. His head snapped up from where his chin had been resting on his chest, and he shook himself out in the long, dark coat, resettling.

He wasn’t soaking wet this time, but the coat still looked ridiculously big on him. The boy looked like he was wearing his father's, or his older brothers, clothes even though knowing Mycroft, Sherlock would only wear specially tailored clothes.

“When’s the last time you showered?” Greg asked after the boy didn’t say a word and just continued looking at him. “Or ate anything?”

Sherlock stared intently at him with a pale, scrutinizing gaze. His hands were pushed into the pockets of his coat and black strands of hair fell over his eyes. And he still didn’t say anything.

Greg bit his lip, trying very hard to keep his patience. “Come over here. Stop doing an impression of a lurking scarecrow. Or whatever it is you’re trying to be.”

The boy blinked owlishly at him; then he peeled away from the wall and with obvious great reluctance started walking slowly across the room.

It took him much longer than it should have so Greg took the time to tidy up the counter and bar. He turned around finally when the footsteps came to a halt followed by an impatient noisy sigh. As he’d expected Sherlock was now standing on the other side, arms crossed across his chest and very grumpy.

The boy looked seconds away from tapping his foot. “What do you want?” He asked in a clipped voice.

“Hello to you too, sunshine,” Greg retorted charmingly. “Good to see you again.”

Sherlock made a frustrated noise, bristling. “It’s him, isn’t it? He put you up to this.”

“If you mean Mycroft,” Greg said considering; “No, he didn’t. He didn’t put me up to anything.”

“Unlikely,” Sherlock replied argumentatively. “He’s always sticking his fat nose into everything. He won’t leave me alone.”

Spare him from mullish younger brothers, especially obstinate ones, who saw caring as overprotective. “You’re the one who came in here, and under your own will,” Greg reminded the boy. “You didn’t turn up because either of us told you to. We don’t even know how to get a hold of you, if that’s even possible, if we wanted to. You walked here on your own two feet.”

That reminder didn’t have any effect on Sherlock’s glare. Sherlock rejoined, “You are still spending time with him, and enjoying yourselves. He has clearly told you who I am.”

“Yes, all of that is true,” Greg allowed thoughtfully. “And your point is?”

Sherlock’s nose wrinkled. “You’re... close.” He said it like it was the most ridiculous thing ever. “He’s swayed you with the lies and empty reassurances he’s given you. You think you know him, but he’ll never tell you everything.”

The Holmes brothers apparently really didn’t get along. Mycroft had hinted something had happened to cause this, animosity, between them. But he hadn’t imagined this. What would it be like to be in the same room with them?

“This might surprise you, but I don’t mind that so much,” Greg confided in the boy. “Everyone has secrets. And they’re the ones to decide when they get told, if they get told at all.”

Something played across Sherlock’s face. “Aren’t some secrets better told than left in the dark while people go on pretending they don’t know?”

There was history there, Greg could tell. But with everything he’d seen during his time as an officer, he knew Sherlock was more than a little right and there was truth in his words. “If you want to get philosophical about it, sure,” Greg replied evenly. “Now, would you like a tea, coffee; maybe a sandwich?”

Sherlock scoffed. “I don’t need your pity.”

“No, you just look like you need a good meal and a few nights sleep,” Greg commented with a touch of sarcasm. He cast a glance over the worryingly thin body even wrapped in that coat. “I can at least help with the meal part.”

“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock snapped irritably.

Greg ignored him, as he had a feeling he’d be doing often. He started making a sandwich. “You will eat this, by the way. I won’t hear anything different.”

Stony silence was his answer.

He finished making the sandwich, placing the second piece of bread on top. When he looked up again Sherlock was still standing there scowling.

“Here,” Greg instructed, sliding the plate over. “Eat.”

Sherlock glanced up at him very briefly before he leaned over to look closely at the plate. “Is it edible?” He asked wrinkling his nose.

“It’s food,” Greg replied shortly; he pushed the plate even closer to the boy. “Now eat. And what did you say about tea or coffee?”

Sherlock lightly tapped the plate with his finger. “If you plan to force it down my throat, I’d prefer tea. No milk, two sugars.”

“Good,” Greg replied. He didn’t add that he wouldn’t actually force him to drink it. He just wanted him to.

He turned away to start the kettle again. And while the water heated he took down a new mug and his best tea.

With his back turned he could only hear Sherlock but Greg was relieved to hear the boy picking up the sandwich, nudging the plate a little. Greg smiled happily to himself. The boy was stubborn and pig-headed, but he had to give in to his body just like everyone else.

Since he’d been using the kettle so often that morning it didn’t take long to heat the water. It whistled at him so Greg picked it up, poured the water into the mug, and mixed in the tea. When he deemed it ready Greg added the two sugars- surprising the boy liked it sweet- and stirred it one last time with a spoon. Only then did he finally turn and deliver the steaming mug of tea to Sherlock.

The boy gave him a suspicious glance, barely a flicker, and reached for the mug. It was hot, probably burnt his fingers, but Sherlock didn’t even flinch. He raised it to his lips and took a testing sip.

A second later he blanched, nose wrinkling, and quickly set the mug back down with a clatter. “That’s absolutely awful. How can you possibly claim that’s tea?”

“It is tea,” Greg answered shortly, almost snapping. “And many of my customers enjoy it.”

Sherlock scoffed loudly. “Most people are idiots, almost everyone is.”

Greg didn’t reply, however much he was tempted to. He patiently bit his tongue and looked carefully at the boy. Sherlock was all irritation with the world and sharp, distancing words. But beneath that was just a boy, willingly isolated from the common folk, alone, and not allowed to do the one thing he wanted (other than being a pirate).

Greg didn’t want to have the boy disappear back to wherever he’d been the past few years. Sherlock did have a sharp tongue but it was just a defense and made Greg wonder when he’d started using it instead of trying to understand other people. Mycroft was better, more congenial, but Greg wondered if that came from working in politics or he’d just adapted better than his brother in his longer lifetime.

Either way Greg was more than willing to give Sherlock a chance; an opportunity to stay in the daylight with the rest of the population. “So you think you can do better?” He challenged the boy, taking away the mug since Sherlock apparently didn’t want it. Greg had a feeling Sherlock enjoyed challenges.

As he’d expected Sherlock’s mouth twisted into a prideful smirk. “Of course I can, no question.”

Just as he’d thought. “All right,” Greg said agreeably, interested. “What can you make then?”

A light came into Sherlock’s eyes, almost the same look he’d had during their first conversation when he’d made comments about Greg’s past. He opened his mouth to say exactly what Greg wasn’t sure.

“No, wait,” Greg quickly stopped him, holding up a hand. Sherlock placed a heavy worth on words, using them for everything- especially getting what he wanted and telling the truth no matter the consequences or harm. Greg could tell the truth, the honest truth, was important to Sherlock. And while Greg could commend that, sometimes it was better to withhold the truth.

Since Sherlock would, hopefully, be staying around for the near future Greg hoped he could convince Sherlock to express himself better than just using sharp words. He did have that giant, brilliant mind to figure it out with.

“I don’t want you to tell me, I want you to show me,” Greg decided confidently. He pointed at the kettle and then the coffee machine. “Go ahead.”

Surprise flickered in Sherlock’s eyes, he cast a narrowed glance between the two machines. “You trust me to, use your equipment? Just like that, without anything in return?”

Greg merely shrugged. “Go ahead,” he repeated.

Sherlock looked carefully at him for a moment; then he nodded and moved around to join Greg behind the counter.

Greg moved out of the way and relaxed against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched Sherlock flit about. He was a flurry of movement, graceful and every part of it controlled. Absently Greg wondered if he’d ever had dancing lessons. Sherlock took down two mugs, oddly, then opened one of the cupboards and stuck his nose in.

“What are you looking for?” Greg asked curiously.

Sherlock made an annoyed noise and reached inside the cupboard. There were soft clinking noises as he moved around the jars Greg kept on the first shelf of the cupboard. “You’ll have to restock all of your ingredients. These are completely useless. I don’t know why you have most of these, they don’t belong in drinks.”

“Thank you for your input,” Greg commented dryly.

Sherlock huffed before extracting his hand from the cupboard, holding one of the jars. He held it up to his eyes, nodded, and set it down on the counter.

As the kettle started making noises meaning it was almost ready, Sherlock took a step back and surveyed the counter. His head turned as his gaze swept back and forth along the counter before finally settling on the metal door to the small fridge Greg had had installed underneath. Sherlock bent down, opened the door, and pulled out a jar of milk before he kicked it closed.

In a familiar, orchestrated dance Sherlock poured the water into the first mug, added tea, and a spoonful of sugar. Into the second he combined a mixture of milk, tea, and whatever was in the jar he’d taken down. He picked up a spoon Greg had left on the counter, used it to stir the second mixture, then put it aside again.

Sherlock paused for a brief second, his shoulders tense and stiff; finally he turned around and held out the first mug to Greg.

Greg took it carefully in both hands and drew the mug in close to his chest. “Thanks,” he said before he lifted it to his lips. Greg was half tempted to sniff it first, just to make sure it didn’t smell off or strange, but that wouldn’t help with the trust he was trying to build with Sherlock.

He took a small, testing sip and was surprised by the rich flavor flooding his tastebuds. It was delicious and didn’t taste at all like the weak, flavored water tea could be sometimes. Greg took a larger sip, waited, and then swallowed. When he lowered the mug again he said appreciatively, “That’s really good, delicious.”

Sherlock smiled at him, a small real smile that lightened his features. Without a word he reached out and took the mug from Greg’s hands to replace it with the second mug.

Greg didn’t protest, just accepted it. This one was hotter to the touch than the first and he lifted it to his nose, only because it had a really good smell coming from it. A scent that was even better when he inhaled it.

Greg glanced at Sherlock over the top of the mug to see the boy watching him with an impatient, possibly worried, look.

He didn’t want to draw this out or make Sherlock annoyed enough to snap at him, so Greg raised this mug to his mouth. He took a testing sip again and this time was even more surprised at a rush of bitter tea, milk, and cinnamon sweeping into his mouth.

Greg swallowed and took a longer sip of the delicious liquid. It was bitter and sweet at the same time, and very refreshing. He knew Sherlock was waiting but it was so good that he drank most of it before finally lowering the mug.

When he looked up again Sherlock was watching him expectantly, poised against the counter.

“This is wonderful,” Greg told him with open honesty. “You came up with this yourself?”

After a moment of facial exercises Sherlock nodded. “Yes, among others.”

Greg frowned and took another sip of the drink. “You make your own drinks? And mix them yourself?”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed; he sounded like he didn’t understand why Greg was asking such inane questions. “I enjoy experimenting.”

Greg laughed. “With drinks?”

When Sherlock just blinked at him Greg paused, considering. Finally he asked, thoughtfully, “Are there other drinks you’ve designed Mr. Mad Scientist?”

Sherlock looked confused at the term but the side of his mouth twitched. “Yes. But some I am still working on and they aren’t yet perfected.”

“And they’re fit for human consumption? You can drink them, and people like them?” Greg asked sensing it was a good question to ask since Sherlock might not have thought of it.

“Theoretically,” Sherlock confirmed. “I don’t typically allow other people to try my drinks. But I personally make sure they are all perfect myself.”

Well that settled it then. Sherlock might be a risk but Greg was more than willing to take the chance. “What would you think about offering your drinks here? The customers might like your experiments, it would be something new.”

The pleased look on Sherlock’s face flickered and then resettled into something more detached. “You’re offering me a place in your cafe. Why? I could be just as successful selling them on my own.” His nose wrinkled. “I do have a website I maintain where I take orders; along with other requests.”

“A website?” Greg echoed in surprise. “Well, why use a website when you can make and sell them in an actual shop?”

Sherlock made a ‘hmph’ sound. “Tedious. Boring. Needless interaction with the common population. Impractical.” He looked away.

“You wouldn’t necessarily have to interact with them,” Greg told the boy, trying to be convincing. “I can already tell that’s not such a good idea. All you would have to do is make your drinks here for each customer.” He paused, taking a deep, silent breath, and added, “And you would have a place to stay and a place to sell your drinks. It would help word spread about your drinks and, if people liked them, you could get even more customers. I’m trying to help you.”

The interest slowly growing on Sherlock’s face died suddenly and totally. “Pity,” he bit out. “I’m not one of your strays. ” With an icy glare at Greg Sherlock turned on his heel and strode quickly back towards the door.

“Sherlock, wait!” Greg called desperate. And, somehow, Sherlock actually did stop- for now. “It isn’t pity, I promise. And you’re not one of my... strays.” He waited until Sherlock slowly, so slowly, turned around again before explaining, “It’s... a mutual arrangement, beneficial for us both.”

Sherlock frowned at him, obviously still hesitant. He looked at Greg for a long, long time then finally asked, a vulnerable note in his voice, “Why?”

His offer wasn’t really that unusual, was it? He saw potential in Sherlock, for all his harsh words and sharp edges, and he wanted to see if he could help mold it. Hadn’t anyone ever believed in the boy before?

Greg searched for the words, for the right answer to Sherlock’s one word question. But finally he just replied, “Because I think you’re a good kid, and you make great drinks.”

That made Sherlock tilt his head to the side, and Greg could practically see the wheels in his mind turning as he considered. After what felt like a long time Sherlock pressed his lips together tightly, shook himself, and said slowly, “I’m willing to try for a short period, to see if this arrangement really can work.”

Greg smiled widely, happy that Sherlock was considering. “I can work with that.”

Sherlock smiled tentatively at him, but that light was in his eyes again. “So can I.”

They shook on it, and the next day Sherlock started serving his drinks in Greg’s cafe.  
No looking back.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

the end

**Author's Note:**

> The second part should be posted by the end of the weekend if not by the end of the week ;D


End file.
